


That Depends on the Gentleman

by prophetkristy



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Episode 4x06, F/M, Missing Scene, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prophetkristy/pseuds/prophetkristy
Summary: He felt himself stirring at the memory of that first time, and had to pause to breathe and blink back the images of the painfully young thing who had given him everything he never knew he wanted.A missing scene and post-ep for episode 4x06.
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 57





	That Depends on the Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to see more of the adorable scene at the end of 4x06, and y'all made me write it myself, since it appears no one else has!

Settling on the edge of the bed, Demelza yawned audibly. “I’m that tired, and for what? I’ve not done aught today but sit in a carriage!”

Ross smiled fondly at her. “A bumping, rattling carriage,” he replied. “Not exactly a restful journey.” He crossed to his wife, helping to remove her coat.

”P’raps I’d’ve been more comfortable walking,” she mused, letting her eyes flutter closed as her husband kneaded her shoulders. “Judas, I shall never make a proper lady.”

He paused in his ministrations. That was an old conversation. “And are you sorry you came?”

“Nay, Ross, tho’ I do miss the children somethin’ fierce already.” She sighed and shifted to lean against the headboard. “‘Twill be past their bedtime.”

Ross let his fingers trail down her arm to capture her hand and bring it to his lips. “Prudie and Jinny have them well cared for, my love, with your brothers to look in.” He released her hand to loosen his stock, then set to unbuttoning his waistcoat.

Another sigh was Demelza’s only reply as he turned away to drop the wadded stock on the dressing table. The silence stretched on while he poured water into the basin. 

“The House doesn’t meet tomorrow, so I can show you London,” he said, hoping a change of subject would cheer her up, but no response came. “...My love?” Ross turned from the basin at the sound of a tiny snore. He chuckled and moved back to her side. Demelza was fast asleep, sprawled with one leg hanging off the side of the bed.

When she didn’t stir at his hand gently stroking her cheek, he let out a sigh of his own. “I suppose I shall put you to bed, then,” he murmured to his wife, unable to suppress his smile. He shed his waistcoat and set it aside.

As he worked at the laces of her dress, memories swelled, unbidden, of countless other times he had unlaced his wife’s clothing. Fine silks and satins, soft linen and wool, and more distantly—yet still clear as if it were yesterday—nubby blue silk when she had first come to him, welcome in her boldness.

She had worn no shift beneath, then, he remembered, easing Demelza’s bodice off of her shoulders and catching his work-roughened fingers in the linen below. All the more startling to have had sudden access to her skin. Regular meals had filled out the scrawny thing he’d first brought home, but she had been thinner then, not yet ripened into woman and mother.

He felt himself stirring at the memory of that first time, and had to pause to breathe and blink back the images of the painfully young thing who had given him everything he never knew he wanted. He should have sent her away and not given in to his baser instincts, but he had never found it in him to regret what they had shared that long ago night. Remembered surprise that it had been a sharing warmed his skin, and he pressed a kiss to her temple before he slid the dress the rest of the way off.

Her stays were next, and somewhat awkward, but still she didn’t wake while he worked. This was by far the farthest Demelza had ever been from home—whether you counted “home” as Illuggan or Nampara—and the journey had clearly been taxing. His pride in her courage at joining him in faraway, foreign London swelled in his chest.

Ross found his fingers trembling once Demelza’s shoes were off and he was easing her shift up her legs to access the ties holding up her stockings. These were not as fine as the ones he’d given her that past Christmas, but it still cost him a pang to recall her doubt of his love for her. Doubts and recriminations they both had, and enough of both to shake lesser faith. He gave thanks to whatever God would accept it that they always found their way back to one another. 

Ever so gently, he rolled the stockings down to her ankles, taking a few deep breaths as he did so and almost wishing she’d wake. His hands and, in truth, the rest of his body longed to worship her properly. Sternly, he checked his body’s response, but decided he could indulge himself by removing her shift. After all, it was rumpled and creased from the long day in the carriage.

Her skin was luminous in the firelight, warm under his loving touch as he framed her face with his hands once he had pulled the material free of her bright hair. He caressed her body with his reverent gaze, then kissed her forehead and eyelids softly. “My love,” he breathed.

Permitting himself a longing sigh, Ross finally straightened, tucking Demelza tenderly under the covers. He built up the fire before removing his own clothes and joining her, gathering his wife carefully into his arms.

***

He was already half-dressed when Demelza finally stirred the next morning. He’d been only casually attentive to his morning ablutions, preferring to watch his beloved wife slumber via the large round mirror on the dressing table.

“Judas, Ross, why did ‘ee not wake me?” She sat up, hugging the sheet to her chest. “And how did I get like this?” Her smile in the mirror was accusatory.

“You fell asleep fully clothed,” he replied without a pause of his razor. “I put you to bed.”

“And failed to furnish me a nightgown?” She was still smiling.

He couldn’t stop his chuckle. “Do you need one?”

“I need one now." Her downcast gaze held no dismay at her state of undress.

Ross turned away from the shaving mirror to gesture with his razor at the chair draped with her nightgown. “Go and fetch it.”

She laughed at him, attempting to bat her eyelashes. “A gentleman would fetch it for me,” she said primly.

“That depends on the gentleman,” he qualified, returning to his shaving.

“‘Tis too bright, Ross,” she protested, an alluring flush creeping over her. “One don’t look becomin’ in daylight!”

He studied her in the mirror. Last night’s candlelight had danced along her skin, but in the bright London morn she positively glowed, glints teasing along her coppery hair. “I disagree.”

“Are you gonna hand it to me or not?”

“Not.” He was enjoying her discomfiture too much for that.

The sight of her carefully gathering the sheet about her as she rose stirred anew the desire that he’d banked last night. Making one last swipe with the razor, he dropped it to the dressing table and turned to pounce on a trailing corner of Demelza’s sheet, hoping to pull it off.

Her grip was true, and with a yelp she tripped and tumbled to the rug, clutching the sheet about her. “No, you can’t have me!” she shrieked, with bright laughter bubbling in her voice.

“Oh, yes I can,” he declared, grinning, as he wiped the remnants of soap from his face and tossed the towel carelessly aside. He dropped to his knees astride her even while she tucked the sheet more securely above her breasts, which only made him want her more. “You are my prisoner,” he said, crawling his way up her body, “my present to be unwrapped at leisure.” 

He kissed her hungrily just as knocking sounded at the door. Demelza’s giggle vibrated against his lips before she pushed him away. Her dancing eyes met his while the maid announced breakfast.

“Tell Mrs Parkins we shall be down in an hour—or _two_ ,” he leered at her, delighting at the brilliance of her smile. A smiling Demelza could light up a dark London street, even more so when she was flushed with embarrassment—or excitement. Heat washed over him.

“I thought you liked me best in Cornwall?”

“A Demelza in Cornwall is a wondrous thing,” he teased, kissing her softly. “But a Demelza in London is even better.” His voice had deepened and roughened with his desire, and he felt her shiver beneath him as he captured her lips again and tugged at the sheet.

She resisted his attempts to peel away her covering, but her grip loosened as she melted under the onslaught of his tongue. At first he contented himself by merely slipping his hands underneath, inching the fabric down while prolonging the kiss. But once past her breasts, he could not restrain himself from pulling back to strip the sheet off.

He paused then, taking in his fully unwrapped present, his Demelza laid out upon the sheet. He’d thought her glowing before, but now she was radiant, bronze eyelashes tangled, lips swollen from his kisses. The sight was enticing, enchanting, and he could wait no longer to taste deeply of her willing mouth. One of her hands twined fingers with his while the other stroked down his side to the fastenings of his trousers. Her touch shot heat straight to his groin and he curled his tongue against hers. 

Once her trembling fingers had loosed two buttons, Ross dragged himself away from her to sit up and eagerly tug off his boots. Demelza followed to sit on her heels close beside him, warm fingers slipping below his waistband. He swelled at this sign that she was affected as much as he was, that her desire matched his. How had he survived in London so long without her? His hunger for her was both greater and less than it had first been, when they wed; greater for rekindling after their separation, less for the ease they now had in each other’s presence after years of marriage. He would never have enough of her.

The distance of the past year had been largely his fault, he knew; he wasn’t proud of it, but he needed her to be his and his alone. “Strangers who know every inch of each others’ skin,” he’d said, and it was still true today; he thrilled to learn her all over again.

They worked together to quickly rid him of the trousers, then he took his wife in his arms and bore her back down to the floor, one knee slipping easily between her exquisite thighs. Her head was thrown back, inviting him to drag his tongue up the column of her throat before kissing her deeply. He swallowed her soft moan as his hardness traced her slickness and he paused at her entrance. Bracing his upper body on his elbows, he tangled their fingers together and held on when he thrust into her and her fingers tightened on his.

“Oh, Ross,” she sighed against his lips, “oh, yes, just like that, oh please, my love.”

“My love,” he rumbled in return, dropping his head slightly to bury his face between her breasts, pulling partially out and then immediately thrusting again, deeply. Her perfect breasts were small and round, filled out from motherhood, and he allowed himself the pleasure of taking one into his mouth, circling the nipple with his tongue.

Demelza sobbed out a moan and jerked against him, letting go of his hands to brace against his sides, knees coming up to cradle his hips. He thrust his fingers through her fetchingly tousled hair, recaptured her lips, rocked against her and established his rhythm. Her enveloping heat was as much home to him as Nampara‘s windswept shores. He worshiped her smooth skin as he had not been able to do last night, tasting the hollow of her throat, running his fingernails lightly down her arms and delighting at the goose pimples that rose in response. She trembled beneath him and a delicious pressure began to build at the base of his spine with every thrust.

Ross returned to her mouth—it had been a while for that—and let his tongue form a counterpoint to his rhythm inside her. Her tongue answered, tracing his, sending a stab of pleasure through him. The sensation did not ebb, and the tide began to rush through his senses just as she cried out and tightened. Ecstasy crashed through him harder than any wave upon sea cliffs. He threw his head back and arched against her with a final shout while he spilled into her.

Slowly his bliss drained back to sea, occasionally interrupted by random sparks fizzing along his nerves. Once he settled beside her, she nestled contentedly into the circle of his arms. They rested there together while their breathing slowed, kissing lazily. 

Ross let his hands wander, enjoying her warmth under gentle fingertips. When she shivered, he patted her backside fondly and then raised his head to mark the chair looming above them.

"I've fetched your nightgown, my love." He reached over her head to pull the garment off of the chair, and he draped it across her.

Demelza punched his arm playfully, but her silvery laughter filled his heart.


End file.
